


The End as We Know It

by glintwarsgreatest



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies), Walking Dead (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-13 15:16:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2155317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glintwarsgreatest/pseuds/glintwarsgreatest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peeta Mellark was just a cop in a small, sleepy Georgian town when he was shot and slipped into a coma. When he wakes up, the entire world as he knew it is gone. Something has happened. The dead are coming back to life. Society has crumbled. Who among the living can be trusted?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The End

It was just another normal, hot, muggy, unbearable Georgia summer day as Peeta Mellark and Gale Hawthorne sat in their squad car, eating burgers, waiting for something to happen in their sleepy hometown. Peeta sat in the drivers seat, droplets of sweat dripping from his brow, watching the slow moving towns people make their way into the shops on main street. 

“I don’t know man,” Gale said as he munched on some of Peeta’s fries. “It seems to me like the real action is in Atlanta. Not much really happens around here you know?” 

Peeta sighed. How many times had they had this exact conversation? 

“Plenty happens here Gale. Just because it’s not like some damn TV show doesn’t mean we don’t keep busy.” He retorted, slapping Gale’s hand away from the rest of his burger. “Besides, I got my family here. I like being able to see them whenever I want, you know?” 

“Yeah, yeah I know, always with the family. How’s Madge doing by the way?” Gale asked, his interest suddenly drawn to the peeling paint on the inside of the door. 

“She’s fine. Rye keeps her plenty busy and so does Rick, but they seem happy.” Peeta said, trying to not roll his eyes at Gale’s transparency. 

“Happy huh? That’s good, that’s good.” Gale grunted as he shifted in his seat. 

Peeta was about to launch into his normal “you need to stop asking questions about my sister” tirade when the radio on the dash interrupted his speech. 

“All available units, High speed pursuit in progress. Linden County units request local assistance. Highway 18 eastbound. GTA, ADW, 2-17, 2-4-3. Advise Extreme Caution.” 

The call sent a jolt of anticipation ran down Gale’s spine. He flashed a grin at Peeta, who looked less excited, and more apprehensive. 

“Well what are you waiting for Mellark? Flip on the lights and let’s go!” Gale said, his enthusiasm undaunted as he tossed the bag with their burgers into a trashcan next to the car. 

Peeta sighed and did as he was told, pulling the car out from where they were parked and speeding off, sirens blaring. 

It wasn’t that Peeta didn’t love his job as a police officer, he did; but he often wondered if his best friend was only in it for the thrills, for the possibility of things like shoot offs, and tire spikes; like they were playing a real life video game. 

The reality of another man (or woman) pointing a gun at you wasn’t anything like a video game. There was no “respawn”. You only had one life. 

As the squad car sped down the back county road towards the highway, dispatch continued to provide Peeta and Gale with more details on just what it was they were going to encounter. Gale sat checking his gun over and over, ensuring it was loaded while Peeta gripped the steering wheel, listening intently to what was being said. Little details could be life saving.

“Suspects are two male Caucasians. Be advised they have fired upon police officers. One Linden County officer is wounded.” 

Almost immediately another car joined them as they sped down the highway, coming to a screeching halt in the middle of the road to intercept the chase. 

“Unit 1, unit 3, to eastbound Route 18, two miles west of Interstate 85. Will patch in Linden County sheriff radio.” 

Gale immediately jumped out of the car, and raced around towards the trunk to retrieve the spike roll there. Joining him, Peeta and Gale jogged out a few hundred feet from the squad car to lay out the strip and hopefully deter the criminal’s car. Peeta stood for a moment, keeping his ear pealed for any sounds, as well as what was coming from the radio. 

“Roger that. We’re five minutes south of the Route 18 intersection.” The voice of a sheriff’s deputy announced over the radio. 

The spike strip laid out, Gale and Peeta ran back to the car, backing it up a large distance from the trap. Peeta grabbed the radio on his dash quickly.

“Dispatch, unit 1 and unit 3, we are 10-97 and Code 100, Highway 18, E.B. of Interstate, Please advise.” His voice sounded hard and emotionless, how it always sounded in these tense situations. It was why he was a good cop, his ability to turn off his emotions and focus solely on the job in front of him. Gale continued to gaze excitedly down the road, awaiting the appearance of what was sure to come their way. 

Backing up next to the other squad car, Peeta slammed on the brakes, getting out of the car quickly, readying his gun as he sat protected by the nose of the two cars parked close together. Gale quickly pulled a large rifle out of the car, loading it with ammunition. 

Now all they could do was wait. The other police officers prepared themselves as well, all eyes tuned down the road as the chase made its way to them. 

“Think we’ll make it on one of those crazy cop shows? You know world’s deadliest chases or something like that?” The young officer to Peeta’s right asked. 

“I think you need to focus on what we’re doing here, not fantasize about being on television. And make sure the safety is off on your gun.” Peeta answered, not bothering to spare the younger man a glance. 

“It would be kind of cool to get on one of those shows.” Gale reasoned with a smile. Peeta simply shook his head. 

It was on them in flash, an older car flying down the road, swerving as it did so, with two sheriff’s vehicles close behind it. Peeta felt all the muscles in his arms tense as he aimed his handgun, waiting to see if the spike strip worked it’s magic. 

The moment the car rolled over the strip, the sound of tires blowing rang out around them. The car lost it’s handle on the road, twisting and turning, smoke billowing out from the tires and from under the hood before finally flipping over, and rolling to a stop in the field on the side of the road, wheels spinning in the air. 

“Holy shit.” Gale murmured loud enough for Peeta to hear. 

Peeta watched as the car finally seemed to stop moving, waiting for what felt like minutes (but was only seconds) to see if any of the passengers had survived the crash. They all stood slowly, guns raised, as they made their way towards the car. Peeta felt slightly better now having 8 officers in total to fend off the two criminals, but still, the situation was dangerous. 

Suddenly the door of the wrecked car groaned open, a dazed man stumbling out. For a tense moment, nothing happened, but as Peeta watched, the man pulled a gun.

“Put the gun down NOW.” Peeta commanded but the man ignored him, firing on the officers that were surrounding the car. 

As the battle ensued Peeta felt the air go out of him, a bullet hitting him in the stomach of his bulletproof vest. Falling to the ground, he quickly rolled towards the tall grass, trying in vain to regain his ability to breath. 

Gunfire rang out around him, eight officers against one man was really no contest.   
They put him down easily, riddled with bullet holes, and almost immediately the second passenger of the car hopped out with a shot gun in his hands, firing off a round the blew the windshield of Gale and Peeta’s squad car. The man stumbled backwards, blood pouring from the side of his head from the wreck, allowing the officers a clear shot. He too, was killed quickly, and finally the sound of gunfire ended. 

“Peeta!” Gale yelled, rushing towards Peeta now that the coast was clear. 

“I’m fine! I’m fine!” Peeta wheezed, struggling to stand up, still gasping for breath. “That son of a bitch shot me, but I’m fine.” He assured Gale who was now at his side. 

“Damn, that scared the hell out of me Peet. I thought you were gone.” Gale said, placing a rough hand on Peeta’s shoulder. 

“Scared the hell out of me too, dude. I can’t believe he shot me, can you believe that?” Peeta responded as he unbuttoned his shirt to check on the vest he was wearing underneath.

“Gale, you don’t ever tell Madge that happened ok? She’ll lose her shit.” Peeta started, turning to face Gale. Gale placed his hands in the air, nodding his head in understanding, when suddenly a single gunshot rang out and Peeta felt hot searing pain radiate from his side into his back, throwing him to the ground. 

He heard the sound of Gale’s shotgun go off, followed by a body hitting the ground, while he struggled to keep his eyes open. Gale was on him quickly, turning him onto his back. 

“No, no, no, no, no! Peeta! Stay with me man! You’ve got to stay awake!” Gale yelled frantically, stripping off Peeta’s vest and applying pressure to wound as Peeta laid gasping and wincing in pain. 

“He’s hit! Call an ambulance! We have an officer down!” Gale screamed behind him, as tears poured down his face. 

Peeta watched Gale for as long as he could, but quickly – too quickly – everything around him faded into black. 

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Madge sat outside of Rye’s school waiting for the bell to ring, just as she did every day of the week. It was hot outside, normal for this time of year, as she watched other parent’s mill around, some on cell phones, other fussing with their younger children. 

Sighing she leaned back against the bench she was sitting on, perking up slightly when a cop car rounded the corner. Sometimes Peeta liked to come by when she picked up Rye from school, give them both a ride home, and more often than not, give Rye candy he didn’t need. 

What she wasn’t expecting was to see a pale-faced Gale emerge from the car, his eyes set immediately on her. She stood without even thinking, and found herself walking towards Gale quickly before she even realized she had begun to move. 

When she reached him she could feel her heart twisting inside her chest, her stomach dropping to her knees. 

“Madge, I’m sorry. He – he got hit today. It’s bad. He’s in a coma.” Gale told her. He didn’t give too many details about what had happened, but she didn’t want, or really need, them. Not right now. 

“A coma?” She asked, her voice breaking. Gale nodded his head, his eyes trained on the school doors opening behind her. 

She turned and followed his gaze, her eyes finding her blonde haired, 11 year old son as bounded down the steps towards them both, his eyes searching for his uncle. 

She closed her eyes and felt her heart break apart. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first thing Peeta registered was that it was hot. Really, horribly, terribly hot. As his eyes flickered open, he could smell himself, sweaty and unwashed, and – oh god his side hurt. He winced as he moved his head, trying to take in his surroundings. 

Hanging above him was a half empty liquid bag on an IV pole, on his left sat blank, lifeless hospital machinery. On the table nearest him was a vase with dead, wilting flowers, cards reading “Get Well Soon!” surrounding it. 

Shit. How long had he been out? 

He glanced down, noticing a bandage wrapped around his mid chest, his only clothes an open hospital gown and a set of grey shorts. He couldn’t hear anyone moving around in the corridor outside his closed door. Buzzing for the nurse didn’t work, in fact none of the machinery in the room seemed too.

Grunting, he tried to sit up, the pain radiating throughout his entire body. Looking down at his arms, he ripped out what was supposed to be his IV, pulling himself free from all the wires he was hooked up to. 

As soon as he tried to stand up he stumbled, grabbing onto the machine nearest him to steady himself on his feet. How long had he been here like this? Who let him be forgotten? 

Glancing around the room he spotted a phone, and using the wall to steady himself, he made his way over towards it. 

Dead. No sound at all, no dial tone, nothing. 

Questions spun in his head. Did the power go out? Where was his nurse? His doctor? His bandages were soaked through, blood and something else visible through the white cotton. Obviously it had been some time since he was checked in on. 

“Something’s happened.” He said aloud, surprised at just how raspy and unused his voice was. Something had to have happened. He wasn’t a police officer for nothing, and his gut was telling him – screaming at him – that something was very, very, wrong. 

Before he could find out what exactly was going on, he needed water. Badly. Thirst and pain were his two most prevalent concerns right now, and after calling for a nurse for some time, it seemed that no one was coming to help him with either. 

Cautiously making his way over towards the restroom, he turned on the water tap, placing his mouth directly on it, gulping down the water as it flowed, splashing some onto his face, trying to jumpstart his foggy brain. 

Taking a moment his looked long and hard at himself in the mirror. His hair was longer, shaggy almost, and he had a beard coming in. Madge would hate that, she always hated when he tried to grow out his facial hair he thought, smiling to himself. 

Madge. Oh shit. Madge. She would never let this happen to him if she knew. So where was she? And Rick, or Rye, or Gale? Shit, Gale would throw a fit and probably arrest people if he saw the dead machines and soaked through bandages. 

Where the hell was everybody? 

Making his way to the door of his room, sweating profusely just from the walk, he turned the handle only to find his way out blocked by a hospital bed jammed up against the doorway. Pushing it aside took insurmountable effort, and he came to a stop in the middle of the hallway to regain his breath, taking in the sight around him. 

Papers littered the floors in all directions; the lights directly above him were all out, but down the hall a ways some flickered on and off. Down the hallway to his left something swung from the ceiling, and there wasn’t a single soul in sight. It was as if everyone who worked at the hospital had left in a hurry, desperate to escape. 

A hurricane? Maybe. But they would have transported him as well if that were the case. An invasion? Unlikely, especially in Georgia where everyone and their sister had a gun – an uprising would have been more likely than that, but a hospital would have been valuable to any sort of rebel group for those injured during the fight. 

“I have to move.” Peeta thought, and slowly – as fast really as he thought he could manage in his current state – he made his way towards the help desk, and the flickering lights, his left arm hanging limply at his side. 

Reaching the help desk he immediately picked up the phone, only to find this one dead too. Shoving it off the desk in frustration he felt around until his fingers closed on a book of matches that would be helpful now that he was in the dark. 

Once again walking towards where the light was flickering, he came to a stop outside a double swinging door. Peering through the window he caught his breath. 

There lying in the hallway, was a corpse. It’s middle and legs were completely red and mutilated, fleshless, as thought something had mauled it and removed the skin. The lack of blood made Peeta think it had to have been moved here by whoever had killed it. He took a minute and took a deep breath, steadying his nerves. 

What the fuck was going on? What had he woken up to? 

He turned quickly, opting to walk in the other direction from the body, noticing as he walked the bullet holes and bloodstains that lines the walls. Puddles of blood were everywhere, splatters across the doors made it so a struggle was evident. 

As he continued to make his way, the hallway became more and more war torn, fixtures hanging from the ceiling (if there was even an intact ceiling left), glass and plaster covering the floors. At the end of the hall stood the cafeteria door- marked with writing in what appeared to be blood reading “Don’t Open Dead Inside”. 

Coming to a stop outside of it, Peeta stood in utter bewilderment. The door handles were locked together with a steel chain and padlock, a board forced through the handles. As he watched someone – or something – inside began to try and force it open, the chain and board only allowing for a small crack between the two doors, as pale, yellowing fingers with long yellow nails clawed at the chain. 

Bewilderment turned to panic. Dead Inside. Dead people…… that could still try to open a door. Peeta began breathing heavily, turning quickly on his heel and heading out of the door to his left. Finding a fire exit he hastily opened the door, throwing himself in total darkness.

The elevators didn’t work, making the stairs his only option. He felt the matches in his hand, his only defense, his only source of light, and took a deep breath as the door closed behind him. 

Three matches later he had made his way down the flight of stairs and out of the exit into the bright light of day. The outside world looked just as ravaged as the inside of the hospital, and on the ground lay wrapped body bags – bloodstains seeping through the fabric, flies buzzing around the corpses. 

There were hundreds, all over the yard of the hospital. He walked out of the doors of the corridor and made his way up the hill, shocked at the sight before him.

Buildings looked bombed out. A helicopter and military vehicles all sat abandoned near more body bags, debris everywhere. 

“What the hell happened?” He wondered aloud to himself as he began walking. He needed to get home – or more specifically he needed to get to Madge’s house where he rented out the garage apartment. He saw a bicycle on the side of the road and made his way towards it, hoping against hope that his family was ok. 

There was what looked like the upper half of a body lying next to the bike, but he ignored it, reaching for the handles. As he watched the half body, deep in thought, it suddenly moved, rolling over to face him. 

Falling to the ground in shock, Peeta felt his heart race, a fear he had never really known taking him over. 

The half body was somehow alive, even if it looked very, very dead. Its flesh was rotting through, intestines hanging out of its end, ribs visible. The lips on the face were missing – most of the face rotted through as well, its skin (or what skin was left) a dull and lifeless grey. It reached out towards him, releasing a rasping, guttural screeching sound as it did so. 

Peeta collected himself, standing up quickly and mounting the bike, leaving the half dead woman on the grass behind him, struggling to crawl to where he had been on the ground. 

Riding the bicycle was a relief, it took less effort than walking had, and as he rode Peeta felt anxiety rising throughout his entire being. What was that thing? How does someone become that in the first place? 

As he made it to Madge’s house and his own garage apartment, an even more eerie question settled over him: why hadn’t he seen another living person since leaving the hospital?

Throwing the bike down in the front yard, he hobbled as quickly as he possibly could up to the front door. He found the outer door open; the screen door only partially closed and felt panic rising again. 

“Madge? Rick? Rye?” He shouted as he busted in through the screen. 

Nothing. No response. He made his way through each of the rooms, all of which looked completely ransacked, drawers open, clothes left on the floor, picture frames missing from the walls. All of the rooms were completely empty he realized as he collapsed onto the floor, crying out in pain and anguish. 

They were gone. 

“Is this real?” He whispered out loud, running his hands on the ground. 

“If it’s not please, please let me wake up.” He begged no one in particular. When nothing changed about the reality around him, he sighed, hauling himself to his feet and walking outside to sit down on the front porch steps. 

He watched, as a man from a distance down the road slowly made his way towards where he sat, and he tentatively put up a hand to wave. The man didn’t wave back, and he squinted. Something wasn’t right about the way the man was walking, his shoulders hunched, his feet shuffling. Was he injured too? 

He didn’t have a chance to find out, the sound of a twig snapping behind him alerted him to another’s presence. Before he could tell who – or what – it was, the cold steel of a shovel slammed into the side of his face, causing him to fall limply onto the ground. 

“Shit!” Peeta gasped, causing his assailant – a kid no older than 12 – to stop from hitting him again. 

“Dad! I got him! What should I do?” The kid yelled. 

As Peeta lay on the ground, struggling to stay awake, he watched the still ambling man walking towards his assailant and himself when suddenly, a man (the kid’s father no doubt) walked up and shot the shuffler in the head without a second glance. 

The man walked quickly over to where his son stood over Peeta, placing a hand on the child’s shoulder. 

“Did he say something to you? I thought I heard him talk.” The man said as he breathed heavily. 

“He said shit when I hit him.” The kid replied, watching Peeta carefully. 

“Now, you know they don’t talk none son.” The man said before pulling out his gun and aiming it at Peeta. 

“Can you talk? Say something to me man. What’s that bandage for?” The man asked pointing the gun briefly at Peeta’s now almost completely soiled bandage. 

“What?” Peeta gasped, staring at the barrel of the gun, trying in vain to understand the situation happening in front of him. 

“What your wound? How did you get hurt? Tell me the truth or I will kill you.” The man threatened as he cocked the gun. 

Before Peeta could answer however, the world once again faded to black. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	2. The Beginning

Not again. 

That was the only thought ricocheting around Peeta’s brain as he slowly regained consciousness. What world would he wake up to this time? Aliens? For a moment he imagined he was actually waking up from his coma, still in the hospital, and the last few hours had been some type of dream, because it didn’t seem real at all. 

When he tried to move his arms and felt them restrained above his head, he knew he wasn’t that lucky. 

Opening his eyes, he slowly took in the darkened room he was lying in. He was in a house, on a bed, his arms and legs spread eagle, tied to each post of the frame. Sheets and blankets were nailed over the windows, a gas lamp lit on the nightstand. The kid who hit him with the shovel stood over him, a baseball bat now in his hands, while his father stood on the opposite side of the bed, washing his hands in a basin of water. 

“I changed your bandage. It was in pretty bad shape. Smelled like shit.” The man said as he dried his hands on a cloth. 

“I need to know what happened.” He said, turning to face Peeta, his arms crossed over his chest. 

Peeta looked down at the new bandage on his chest, neatly taped over his wound.

“Gunshot. I’m a cop.” Peeta said watching the man carefully. 

“Anything else?” The man asked, his eyes focused on Peeta’s face. 

“No. Got shot. Isn’t that enough?” Peeta snapped. 

The man stood for just a moment before uncrossing his arms and leaning over Peeta, his hands palm down on the bed. 

“Did. You. Get. Bit? That’s what I’m asking. Tell me the truth.” The man said through clenched teeth. Peeta’s eyebrows furrowed. 

“Bit?” He asked bewildered. 

“Bit, scratched, anything like that.” The man responded, his eyes unblinking. 

“No. Just shot.” Peeta answered. 

The man reached forward carefully, and placed his hand on Peeta’s forehead, as if feeling for a fever. 

“You feel cool enough. Fever would have killed you by now.” The man said, nodding at his son before pulling out a knife. 

Peeta flinched as the man cut his wrists and ankles free before turning to leave the room. 

“We’ve got food. Come out when you can.” He said over his shoulder before walking away. 

For a few moments after the man and boy had left, Peeta lay on the bed, shaking. The man was concerned that he had been bitten, but by what exactly? Those human like things? Is that why he had shot that man on the street point blank, with no remorse at all? 

“What the fuck is happening?” Peeta whispered to himself as he stood up. Still shaking he wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and made his way out of the room, down the stairs to where he could see the light of a few candles flickering. 

In the living room, he noticed more blankets and sheets nailed over the windows, allowing no light in the house. The pictures on the walls were of a family he knew from growing up in the town, and he eyed the man suspiciously out of the corner of his eye.

“This is Carl Walters house. I know him and his family.” He said, making sure to not sound accusatory as he made his way over to the largest covered window. 

“It was empty when we got here. Figured no one would mind if my son and I crashed here.” The man said, answering Peeta’s unasked question. 

Peeta nodded, his fingers closing around the edge of one of the blankets. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. They’ll see the light and know we’re in here. I’ve got everything pretty secure but I don’t know how long we’ll last if a bunch of them try to get in. There are more of them out there than usual.” The man said and Peeta withdrew his hand quickly, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. 

“Why’s that?” Peeta asked, coming to stand near the table where the man and his son sat. 

“Shot that gun today. Sound draws them. Shooting a gun isn’t ever a good idea but I wasn’t thinking.” The man said, shrugging his shoulders. 

“You killed that man today. Shot him in the head point blank.” Peeta said, his voice hard. The man stared for a long moment before responding.  
“That wasn’t a man. It was a walker.” The man said, he son nodding his head in agreement. 

“A walker?” Peeta asked, unsure of the situation he had found himself in. What the hell was this man talking about? 

Sitting down, the man put some food on his plate, and held out his hand, bowing his head.

Oh great, these are some Christian psychos. Like on the news, those rapture people. Peeta thought to himself as they blessed the food in front of him. He kept his eyes peeled throughout the prayer, wondering if he was strong enough to escape. He had a sinking feeling the answer was no. 

When the blessing finished they all began to eat in silence, Peeta staring down at his plate as he shoveled the food into his mouth. He was ravenous which made sense, seeing as he didn’t know how long it had been since he had eaten anything. 

The man watched him as he chewed slowly, swallowing and setting down his own fork. 

“Do you know what’s going on?” He asked Peeta, and Peeta stopped eating for a moment. 

“I was in a shootout. I don’t know how long ago, I was in a coma. I woke up in the hospital today, alone. Abandoned I guess would be a better way of putting it. It looked like the hospital had been shot to hell.” Peeta answered. The man’s face registered shock before the careful mask was back in place. 

“Do you know about the dead people?” The man asked, and Peeta nodded as he swallowed. 

“I saw a lot of dead bodies when I made my way out of the hospital. There were hundreds of body bags laying on the ground.” Peeta answered, trying desperately not to let panic cross his features. He was a fucking cop damn it, he wasn’t supposed to get scared. 

“No.” The man said, shaking his head. “Not the ones they managed to kill. The walkers. That’s what I shot today. If I hadn’t he would have killed you. Slowly, mind you. He would have eaten you, taken bites until he was full.” The man paused for a moment. Peeta gaped at him. 

“Look. This must be scary as hell, hearing it for the first time. Shit went down man, and the dead – well they don’t stay dead long. Only thing that works is getting them in the brain with something sharp, or a gun. But the sound draws them. The most important thing though, is don’t get bit. You get bit and it’s done, the fever burns you out and you come back. And when you do, you’re one of them.” The man said seriously, and Peeta nodded, feeling himself pale. 

While he was in a coma the dead had come back to life and gone after the living. If he hadn’t already seen the aftermath, he might not have believed what this man was telling him, but suddenly the door marked “Dead Inside” at the hospital – and whatever was behind it – made sense to him. 

“Well damn.” Was all he said in response to what he had just been told. There wasn’t really much else he could think to say. Sure, plenty of questions were running rampant through his head, but he wasn’t sure there was much more information he could handle right now. All he could hope was that Madge and her husband had gotten their family out before everything had gone to hell. 

Later that night after dinner they sat in the living room, on mattresses laid out on the floor. All the couches and chairs had been pushed up against the walls, candles and a lone gas lamp provided light. Peeta sat on his mattress talking to the man – his name was Morgan-while his son, Duane, lay sleeping.

Morgan had made sure Peeta knew the danger of noise, how it attracted the walkers, and so they whispered, as Morgan filled Peeta in on what little he actually knew. 

“It just happened. I don’t know why, but it did. They attacked and now there aren’t many people left I’d guess. You’re the first alive person I’ve seen in a while.” Morgan told him. Peeta nodded. He was lucky to have been found by Morgan and Duane, he knew that now. They weren’t crazy rapture people; they were survivors in a crazy world. 

Silence had settled between them when the sound of a car alarm went off outside the house. Duane jumped up but Morgan quieted him, telling him to get the lights as he drew his gun. Peeta helped, going around and blowing out candles with Duane, joining Morgan at the window. 

“It’s down the street. Take a look.” He told Peeta, moving aside so Peeta could peep through the hole in the blankets. 

There were tons of them, walking aimlessly around on the street. Some walked directly towards the car, others just shuffled along, going nowhere slowly. 

“Will more come?” He asked. Morgan was quiet for a moment. 

“Probably. The alarm will go off eventually but we’ve got to be careful. They move more at night. I don’t know why for sure, but that alarm will draw them in.” 

Morgan left the window to go and comfort a scared Duane. The kid put on a good face, but Peeta knew Duane had to be at least as scared as he was. Moving towards the door, Peeta watched through the peephole as more and more of the walkers moved around, some walking towards the house, coming as far as the door and staring blankly at it for a few moments before turning around. 

As he watched, one of the walkers seemed to notice him, and his breath caught as he stared eye into lifeless eye. He could see the woman scratch her hand along the door, testing to see if it would open. The house was dead quiet, everyone holding their breath, but the walker lost interest and stumbled down the front steps, joining the horde now surrounding the blaring car. 

Peeta scrambled over towards his bed, shaking slightly before turning towards Morgan. 

“If we can, tomorrow I have keys to the police station. They’re at my sister’s house, where you found me today. I need to pack a bag and get stuff from my garage apartment anyway. We can go to the police station, get into the armory there. Maybe we can use the radios to find out how far this thing has gone.” He whispered as Morgan sat with his arms around Duane. 

“That sounds like a plan. We’ll just have to watch, see if those things out there move on by morning. Are you planning on heading out?” Morgan asked, carefully reaching over to light a solitary candle to light the room again, keeping it low. 

Peeta nodded his head. 

“My sister and her husband; well it looked like they got out. Left, I mean. If they did I’m pretty sure they would have headed to where our parents live in Atlanta. Can’t hurt to try and find them.” He reasoned, with a shrug of his shoulders. They couldn’t be dead, not his family. He was sure that if they were he would be able to feel it, he would know they were gone. Maybe he was just delusional at this point thinking that way, but at least it gave him some hope. Otherwise he wasn’t sure what he would do. 

Morgan seemed to understand. 

“Sure man. Now that we’ve got a plan for tomorrow, why don’t you try and get some sleep. We’re about as safe as we can be in here, can’t hurt to try.” He reasoned and Peeta nodded, slipping down onto his mattress and closing his eyes.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning Peeta found some clothes that belonged to Carl, and dressed quietly, still shaken from the day before. As they ate, he silently came up with a game plan for the day, and went over the things he had learned so far. 

Sound was bad. It caught the attention of the walkers. Morgan didn’t know how it had happened, how everything had gone to hell, but that didn’t change the fact that it had. Getting bit meant the game was over. There obviously wasn’t a cure Morgan had heard of, so maybe one didn’t even exist. 

Maybe this is what the world was now. 

As he sat nursing a water bottle, Morgan checked outside through all the windows.

“It seems clear. Maybe one or two of them milling around out there, but we can handle that. Let’s get to that police station.” Morgan said and Peeta nodded, feeling his heart race. He felt silly, like he needed more time to adjust to all of this, but time wasn’t something he had anymore. He didn’t think anyone had the luxury of time now. 

Standing, he walked over to Morgan, who handed him a baseball bat. 

“Remember. You hit them in the head, that’s what kills them. Anywhere else it’ll delay them, but it doesn’t kill them or really even slow them down any. The head. Make sure they’re dead too because sometimes it takes more than one solid hit.” Morgan warned. 

“And you’re sure they’re dead. I just have to ask, one more time.” Peeta said, hoping maybe magically everything from yesterday hadn’t happened. 

Morgan shook his head, and Peeta felt his heart sink. 

“They’re dead. All they want is to eat you. They don’t talk, they just growl, they don’t even seem to drink water. They’re just animals now man, they’re dead animals.” Morgan told him as he handed Duane another bat and took the shovel from yesterday himself. 

Peeta nodded, and waited as they pried the boards off of the door.

Stepping out onto the porch, Peeta looked around. The world looked so different than it had before he had been shot. All the yards were unkempt, grass was growing without being cut, houses were boarded up, cars littered the streets. He tried to not feel queasy when he noticed that body parts were visible in some yards, blood stains were splattered across some houses. 

Down the sidewalk leading up towards the house sat one of them – a walker, and Peeta took a deep breath, gripping his baseball bat. Making his way cautiously towards it, he watched as the walker stood, and turned towards him. 

It was grotesque, it’s mouth gaping open, blood stained, its face rotting off, pieces of flesh barely hanging on. It was grey, stumbling some as it stood, and the smell coming off of it was like death, like a rotting corpse. 

As a cop, Peet has seen a few dead bodies, and he knew how they looked after a few days or weeks of decomposition. These things truly were dead, whoever they had been was long gone, had died when they originally had. 

Raising his bat, Peeta struck it in the head, once, twice, three times, falling to the ground when the walker did. He had killed it, but the pain that radiated throughout him kept him on the ground, close enough to it that he could see the maggots crawling in and out of its flesh. 

“You all right man?” Morgan asked in concern, laying a hand on Peeta’s shoulder. 

“Yeah, yeah. Just give me a minute. I don’t know how long I’ve been out but I doubt this would have been part of the recovery you know?” He winced, placing a hand on his wound. 

“No, I doubt this would be recommended at all.” Morgan said solemnly, looking away and scanning the area around them. 

After a few minutes Peeta stood up slowly, nodding once at Morgan. They headed out down the street towards Madge’s house, arriving there without incident. Walking inside, Peeta opened a drawer and fished around for the spare keys to the garage apartment where he lived, while Morgan began pulling canned goods out of the pantry and placing them into a bag. 

“Thanks for the food man. Every bit helps. I, I hate to ask you this, but what makes you so sure your family is still alive?” He asked without looking directly at Peeta, choosing to inspect a can of green beans instead. 

Peeta strode over to help him, Duane sitting in the entry way keeping guard, and began placing food on the table for himself alongside Morgan. 

“There’s clothes missing from the drawers. And all the pictures are missing from the walls, the albums are gone from the bookcase.” Peeta reasoned. 

“Ah. My wife did the same thing. The world was falling to shit, and what did she pack? Damn photo albums.” Morgan shook with laughter for a moment and Peeta joined in before the smile fell from Morgan’s face. 

“Course, she’s gone now, got bit. She was right though, the pictures – I treasure those damn things now.” He said. Peeta nodded, acknowledging that he had heard, going over the canned goods and water bottles he had set aside to put in the bag he would get in the apartment. 

“You guys can check for more stuff if you want, see if there’s anything you might need. I know Madge and Rick wouldn’t mind. I’m going to run up to the garage really quick, pack a bag of clothes, I’ll be right down.” He told them, turning and walking out of the door and heading up the outside stairs into his garage apartment. 

Inside, it looked as though he had never left. Pulling open a large backpack from his closet, he began to pack clothing he thought would be good for survival in the Georgian summer and winters. (He shuddered to think he would need clothes for all the way until the winter, but he had a feeling he would.)

He began packing clothing, several t-shirts, long sleeved insulated shirts, jeans, a heavy jacket, some gloves, pairs of boxers, and a spare pair of boots all went into his back before he turned to his bathroom next. He grabbed obvious things first, toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, deodorant, soap, but he also grabbed all the medicine in his cabinet – old prescription bottles, aspirin, band aids. He figured it couldn’t hurt to have that stuff with him, just in case he needed anything. Needing to make sure he had room for the food in the kitchen to fit, he unzipped the front pocket, and went over to his nightstand. Grabbing his flashlight and a few extra batteries seemed like a good idea, as well as his hunting knife, and a picture of his family, all together on last Christmas. 

Walking out of his apartment he turned to take it in for what he knew could very well be the very last time, shutting the door and locking it before slipping the keys into his pocket. 

After packing up the food and water bottles on the table into his bag, he found Morgan and Duane sitting on the porch steps, two bags between them. 

“We found some bandages and things like that, hope that’s ok.” Morgan told him, eyeing the bags on the ground. 

“Of course man. I wouldn’t have told you to take it if I didn’t mean it. Ya’ll ready to head to the station?” He asked, holding up he keys in his hands. Morgan nodded, picking up one bag, while Duane picked up the other and placed the straps on his back. 

“Alright then, lets go.” 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They only ran into one walker on the way to the station, and Morgan was able to easily put it down with his bat. Peeta watched this time; having already killed one today he didn’t feel much like having to do it again so soon. It shook him, how much they still looked like the people they had once been. 

It pricked at the back of his neck as they walked that somewhere out there – near where they were – all those walkers he had seen last night through the window were milling around, just waiting for someone to walk in their path. He felt deeply sorry for whoever did, but at the same time he sincerely hoped it wouldn’t be him. 

Arriving at the station he dug out his flashlight, unlocking the door before they made their way into the dark building. Everything looked the same inside as they checked to make sure everything was secure. 

He lead Morgan and Duane towards the bathroom where the showers were, turning one on as they watched in amazement. 

“The station has it’s own propane set up, runs all of this. I’m guessing the hospital did too since there was running water there yesterday. Go for it guys.” He told them, smiling when Duane let out a whoop for joy. 

Before he joined them in the showers he made a pit stop at his locker, picking up the uniform still left in there, waiting for him to return. He figured it wouldn’t hurt in this new world to be dressed like a cop – he was more likely to get some answers from anyone who he crossed on his way to Atlanta. 

After they showered, and Peeta had shaved, he and Morgan sat for a while on the benches in the bathroom while Duane used the changing rooms. 

“It’s a good thing your family headed for Atlanta. That’s where they told everyone to go, said there was a huge refugee center there, with the military, and food and protection. Said the CDC was working on a cure, they were pretty close. The broadcasts went out a while ago, but I bet everything there is a hell of a lot better than it is here.” Morgan told him, and Peeta felt hope rise within. 

“Is that where you guys were headed?” He asked as he toweled off his hair. 

“Yeah. We’ve been here around…. I don’t know, thirty days maybe? My wife, she got bit. After she died, we just kind of stayed here. Haven’t been able to leave. One day we will.” Morgan told him quietly, watching to make sure Duane couldn’t hear.

“It just all went to shit so fast man. One day, everything was fine. Next day panic took over, the day it started and those things were attacking. The streets weren’t safe, people acting like they forgot how to be civil because of their fear. It’ll probably be easier for you, with that get up on though.” He nodded towards Peeta’s uniform hanging up on the wall and Peeta grinned. 

“That’s what I’m hoping for.” 

They sat in silence for a moment before getting up and changing into their own clothes. Peeta felt more secure wearing his uniform and boots, more in charge than he had been of himself the past day and a half. 

He lead Morgan and Duane towards the ammunitions stock, unlocking the door and breathing a sigh of relief to see almost all the weapons still there, along with plently of ammo. 

“Ya’ll make sure to grab a good amount of ammo, make sure it matches the guns you pick up.” He told Morgan and Duane as he picked up a large POLICE weapons bag and began filling it with an assortment of assault rifles, shotguns, handguns and ammo. He made sure to holster and fully load his own gun, hoping he wouldn’t have to use it anytime soon. 

Outside of the station, Morgan and Duane packed up a car to take for their own while Peeta packed up a squad car to drive to Atlanta. 

“You sure you guys want to stay here?” Peeta asked as he closed the passengers side door. 

“Yeah, we need to work on using these guns, get used to them before we try to take to the road.” Morgan told him, reaching out his hand for Peeta to shake. 

“Well make sure you don’t waste ammo. It can go fast and you may need it.” He said, shaking the hand Morgan had offered him. 

“Good luck finding your family. Stay safe, or as safe as you can out there man.” Morgan told him with a smile, which Peeta felt himself return. 

“You guys stay safe too. Hopefully I’ll see you in Atlanta one of these days.” He called out as Morgan began climbing into his car. Nodding his head once, he and Duane drove slowly off, and Peeta himself got into his car and left to head towards Atlanta. 

He had one stop to make before he really got on the road. Taking his car down the familiar streets of his home town, he pulled to stop at the park where he had taken the bicycle the day before. 

Climbing out of the car, he began searching for the first walker he had encountered here, the pathetic half of a woman, crawling around on the ground, gasping and growing with every tiny bit of effort.

He found her, some ways away from where she had started, using blades of grass to pull herself forward. It looked painfully hard, but did these things even really feel pain? He wasn’t sure. They seem reduced to the ultimate basics of living, eating and finding food their only motivation. He didn’t think they felt anything at all but hunger. 

It took the walker a moment, but finally it recognized him as he knelt beside it, turning and stretching out it’s hand in a grasping motion, trying to get a hold of him to sustain itself. Shaking his head, he pulled out his gun. 

“Whatever life you lived before, you didn’t deserve this. No one deserves this.” He said to it. It showed no recognition of having understood or having even heard what he had said, and Peeta knew, finally, beyond a doubt what he had been wondering since learning about this new world. 

There was no humanity at all left in any of these things, and there was no remorse to be had in killing them. It was either kill them or let them kill you. That was the new world order. 

Aiming his gun at the walker’s head he pulled the trigger, watching as it thudded to the ground, no longer moving. Standing, he took a moment to look around and make sure the sound hadn’t attracted any others in the immediate area before making his way back to the car. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	3. Ride Em' Cowboy

He had been on the road for a few hours before he tried the radio. He hadn’t seen any signs of anyone alive; no other cars on the road besides the occasional abandoned one off to the side. He wondered if Atlanta was locked down, if no one was allowed to leave to keep all the refugees safe. It made him feel better to have the police squad car and the uniform on, he was more likely to be admitted inside the city if they saw he was a cop than if he was just a regular civilian. 

Picking up the radio he turned to dial to the emergency channel that people were instructed to use during natural disasters. Nothing about this disaster was natural, but he figured the same protocols still applied. 

“Is anyone out there? If you are please respond. I am heading down Highway 85 towards Atlanta. I repeat, I am heading down 85 towards the refugee center in the city of Atlanta. If you can hear me, please respond.” He spoke into the radio, repeating himself several times over the course of the next hour. When he received nothing but feedback he felt a knot start to work itself over in his stomach, but he tried to stay hopeful. 

Maybe the radio in the car is busted and I’m just not getting out. Maybe they can’t hear me at all. He thought, reassuring himself. 

Setting the radio back on the dash he continued driving for another hour, getting closer and closer to Atlanta before having to stop. The gas meter in the car was almost on empty, so he pulled over to where he knew a gas station to be. Popping the trunk of the car he grabbed the gas can that was there and made his way down the hill towards the station. 

The sight in front of him was eerie. Dozens of parked cars surrounded the gas station, but there wasn’t a person in sight. As he drew closer and began to weave his way through the maze he saw the reason: most of the cars were filled with dead people. 

It must have been a mass suicide. He thought to himself as he pulled his sleeve over his nose to block the smell the best he could. Making his way quietly to the station he tried all the pumps before noticing a sign taped to the front that declared there was no gas to be had. 

“Well shit.” He said out loud, picking up the can and turning to make his way back to his car. He could go a little further down the road, see if there was another station nearby before he was in any real trouble. His watch told him it was only one in the afternoon, so he had time before it got dark. He really didn’t want to be out in the open when the sun set, he knew that much. 

Stopping at the car he got his backpack and bag of guns, making sure to lock the car down before setting off down the road. He walked on until he saw what looked like a farm house on the side of the road. 

They probably have some gas to spare to run their machines. He thought, walking up towards the door, knocking. 

“Anybody home? Police! I just need some gas!” He called, but no one answered. After a few more minutes of knocking he decided to look into the windows, making his way around the house until he saw something he should have expected. A man and a woman lay on the floor, heads partially blown off from a self-inflicted gunshot wound, blood splattered on the walls all around them. 

Death by suicide seemed to be a common theme today, he thought. He knew that whatever had happened while he was unconscious had been bad, Morgan had told him as much, but seeing the aftermath shook him. All the people he had seen today had been dead by their own hand. How many people in the state of Georgia had lost all hope when everything had started? 

How many people were still left alive? 

Making his way around the house to find a shed with some hope for gasoline, he stumbled upon a pen containing a horse. 

“Well I guess it’ll do.” He said, watching as the horse walked slowly around the edges of its cage. He was close enough to Atlanta that the horse would get him there, and it didn’t look like he would be finding any gas anytime soon. The horse provided a solution to his problem. 

He found a rope sitting on the ground near the fence and picked it up, hoping he could use it to steer the horse as he rode. Setting down his bags and taking off his jacket, he opened the pen up slowly, making his way to the horse who started. 

“It’s ok, I’m not going to hurt you. I just need you to take me somewhere is that alright?” He asked in a calm voice, the same one he used for talking to scared kids. It seemed to work, as the horse let him near, allowing him to secure the rope. He found a saddle and bit near the fence, forgotten about by the horse’s now dead owners, and went about getting it ready to ride. 

With the bags secure, one on his back and one slung across his shoulder, he mounted the horse, nudging its sides. The horse took off at a gallop, and Peeta felt a surge of relief. He would make it to the refugee center before nightfall after all. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It didn’t take the horse long to get Peeta to the outskirts of Atlanta. They rode for less than an hour, following the highway the entire way, but as they got closer to the city, Peeta felt himself become increasingly uneasy at what he saw in front of him. 

There were no cars blocking the highway on the way into the city, but the same couldn’t be said for the way out. Thousands of cars were abandoned trying to leave the city, and what was worse – at a certain point, they were all burned out and blackened, as if someone had set fire to them all at once. There were no signs of life, nothing indicating where the refugee center would be, but still Peeta kept on. He tried his hardest to not let his hope diminish, but the closer he got, the harder it became to have any at all. 

There were no signs of life anywhere as he finally made his way into Atlanta. The streets were empty; the lack of sound was eerie. He made his way down the streets, looking for anything to lead him in the right direction, but saw nothing helpful at all. 

In fact the further into the city he got, what he did see made him think maybe there wasn’t a refugee center here at all. If there had been, it was long gone now. The buildings were singed, as though they had been burned like the cars trying to get out of the city. The road was full of tanks and armored military vehicles, all empty. Bodies littered the ground and as he made his way down the street, Peeta felt a tiny bit of fear prick his neck. 

Looking over his shoulder he saw a few walkers making their way towards him and the horse, but they were moving so slowly that he wasn’t worried quite yet. 

He had no idea what to do, and was contemplating turning around and galloping past the walkers, back the way he had come when he heard it. 

It would have been a normal sound on any other day, but the sound of the whirring blades of a helicopter in this new world made his heart race. Looking up into the sky he spotted it, and kicked the sides of the horse to prod it into a gallop. 

As they turned the corner to follow the helicopter, the horse came to an abrupt stop. There, on the street in front of him, Peeta saw the largest collection of Walkers he had seen up to this point. Hundreds of them stood watching the helicopter, but the ones immediately in front of him were focused on where he and the horse stood. 

He felt like he had swallowed his tongue. Panic filled him entirely, there was no way through the hoard, he had to turn around, but the horse was scared and not budging. As the mass of walkers began moving towards him, he managed to shake the horse out of its stupor and make it a few feet, but by then it was too late. 

They were surrounded. The horse reared back on its hind legs as the walkers grabbed for them both, tossing Peeta off its back and onto the pavement. For a brief moment he lay sprawled on the ground, watching in horror as the walkers took the horse down, tearing into it with their mouths, while the horse cried out the entire time. 

He had been forgotten about momentarily, but it didn’t last long. He knew he was going to have to fight his way out of this, but he wasn’t sure how. The backpack had luckily cushioned his fall, but the bag of guns lay too far for him to get to. Kicking at one of the walkers who had made it ways towards him, he began to scramble to get to his feet. 

He wasn’t able to, he was absolutely surrounded on all sides. Crawling forward on all fours, he managed to get under a tank, making his way as quickly as he could, but to no avail. 

He was not going to make it out of this alive. The walkers followed him under the tank, closing in on him from both sides. He pulled his handgun and shot at one, two of them, before realizing the hatch under the tank was open. 

Pulling himself up as quickly as he could, he shut the hatch, breathing heavily as he pushed all the way into the belly of the tank. 

He sat, trying to catch his breath. He could survive a day or two in here maybe, but what good would that do him? He didn’t know if the walkers would move on, or lay in wait for him. 

God they had torn that horse to pieces, and that’s what they would have done to him if he hadn’t gotten away. 

He was scared. Terrified, actually, and what hope he had was long gone by now. 

He laid his gun down in front of him, staring at it for a long time, wondering if all those dead he had seen earlier in the day had had the right idea, sparing themselves from this world, from the horrors that seemed to be everywhere. 

Closing his eyes he leaned back against the cold tank wall, tears threatening to spill from his eyes when the sound of the radio caused him to jump.  
“Hey, you in the tank. Dumbass. Cozy in there?” an unknown voice sounded over the radio, and Peeta felt his jaw drop, a spark of hope (and disbelief) filling him again.


End file.
